


I'll Catch You (If You Fall)

by maythecat12 (orphan_account)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (a little bit), Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Artist Steve Rogers, But they're oblivious, Fluff, Getting Back Together, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Protective Tony Stark, Tony is Iron Man, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/maythecat12
Summary: New York: an artist and a superhero, an accident, and getting back together.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61
Collections: Stony Loves Steve 2020





	I'll Catch You (If You Fall)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishipallthings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishipallthings/gifts).



> I sort of combined two prompts and ran off with it, and it... spiraled. ishipallthings, thank you for the amazing prompts! And thank you starrshard for the beta.

The past couple weeks with Tony had been amazing. Steve had experienced a sense of ease and bliss. True, they hadn’t gotten very far, just casual dates at coffee shops, and a lot of stolen touches behind closed doors, but Tony was… well, Tony. 

Steve didn’t mind that he was Tony Stark. Tony himself tried to leave a lot of the crazy, paparazzi-filled aspects of his life behind when they were together. It was weird sometimes, how secretive they were, but Steve knew how the public reacted. They’d rip either him or Tony to shreds (or both), probably speculating about Tony’s playboy tendencies (which, as far as Steve could tell, had stopped a while ago, since he was kidnapped) and who Steve was (a struggling artist).

But eventually something happened. Maybe it was a long time coming, but they’d both agreed to split up for the time being. Steve was secretly a little glad because he wouldn’t have to worry about being in the wrong place at the wrong time and getting thrown to the wolves by the media.

Maybe it was for the better.

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. The small complex was quiet, usual for a time this late at night, but something was bothering him. As he began to cross the intersection, he heard a loud revving sound, followed by screeching tires. He turned towards the sound, and his stomach clenched with shock and horror. Someone - probably intoxicated - was speeding down the almost empty street, right towards him. Instinctively, he pressed down on the gas pedal.

He almost made it. 

In the seconds before the impact, time seemed to slow. Steve could see the details he wouldn’t have noticed. The person, the girl, with dark, unfocused eyes, staring right at Steve. The small woven charm hanging from the rearview mirror. The three, shiny, silver ovals that made up the Toyota logo. 

There was a sickening crunch of metal, followed by an ear-splitting shriek, and the telltale sound of the airbag blowing up. He felt the car spin, tires skidding against the road. Everything seemed to blur together - one moment he was in the car, squeezing the life out of the steering wheel as he jerked forward, the seatbelt holding him back, his face slamming into the airbag, and the next, he was opening his eyes in a room with bright lights and white sheets. 

\---

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in here, or how many times he’d woken back up. His head throbbed and he felt a groan escape his lips.

“Steve?” someone spoke. The person’s voice wavered a little, and that someone reached out carefully, fingers trembling, resting their hand gently on Steve’s wrist. Steve stared at the hand on his wrist for a second, the shape so warm and familiar, before he flicked his gaze up. He was met with wide, brown eyes, filled with worry.

“... Tony?” Steve murmured groggily, but that couldn’t be right. He and Tony hadn’t been together for a couple months now, so why would he be here? “What are you…”

“God, Steve-” Tony’s voice broke as he spoke, “Are you okay? Why am I even asking, of course you’re not… ”

“‘m fine,” Steve mumbled. His mind moved slowly, trying to put two and two together. 

Tony rolled his eyes, but a soft smile played on his lips as he gently stroked Steve’s arm. His fingers brushed lightly against Steve’s skin, teasing but soothing. Steve almost reached out to touch him. Almost. He was sure he made some sort of motion to, but his hand never made it.

“You have a concussion, Steve,” Tony’s voice was tight, “you’re going to have to probably stay for a couple more days…”

Ah. That explained a lot. 

“Why are you here?” Steve blurted out, confused. 

“I’m your emergency contact, remember?” Tony said, and oh, Steve did remember. It was on one of their get togethers that Tony had convinced Steve to add him as an emergency contact, in case something terrible had happened. Steve didn’t have anyone else to add, and Tony seemed the most appropriate at the time, so Steve had gladly obliged. He never changed it afterward. A sudden buzzing noise cut through the quiet. Frowning, Tony slid his phone out of his pocket and swore.

“What happened?” Steve tried to see what was on the screen, but it was angled out of his line of sight. 

“I- uh, I may or may not have missed a meeting to get to you,” Tony’s frown deepened as he scrolled through something on his phone, eyes not meeting Steve’s. “I just… I thought you were more important, I guess.”

“Thank… thank you,” Steve trailed off, unsure of what to say. He was… touched. Touched that Tony would skip something important for him. (He was also a little bit mad that Tony would do such a thing.) Suddenly, he was aware that Tony’s hand was now running through his hair, fingers massaging his scalp lightly. The sensation sent a warm, fluttery feeling into Steve’s stomach. 

He yawned, eyelids heavy. Curling under the blanket and dropping off sounded more appealing every second. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

\---

Steve blinked himself awake, after a dreamless sleep. His head still hurt a bit, and he felt groggy. He instantly noticed Tony, asleep in his chair, fingers intertwined with Steve’s. Huh. The moment Steve moved, Tony snapped awake.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concern laced into his voice. Steve wasn’t sure if Tony was aware that he was tracing circles onto the back of Steve’s hand, but he didn’t protest. 

“How long have I been… how long have I been in the hospital?” Steve didn’t mean to avoid the question that Tony asked. “I’m fine.”

“Four days, I think. They did some scans to check brain damage,” Tony answered, glancing down at his phone.

_ Four days. Four days. Tony had been with him for four days.  _ Steve wasn’t sure how to process that information, so he shoved it aside for later.

The release was a blur. Tony had fussed over him relentlessly, more than the doctors, really. 

“Can I have a moment?” Tony asked.

The nurse smiled, not unfriendly at all. “Of course.” She shut the door behind her, a thud emanating across the room.

Tony took a breath. “I, uh, can you let me check on you? Just to, you know, make sure you’re okay? I want to ma- I should make sure you’re okay, because, um, yeah…” 

Steve blinked for a moment, processing the ramble he’d just been thrust.

“Alright.”

\---

The visits were staggered, at first, with Tony popping in every week or so to make sure Steve was doing okay, before pretty much becoming short, daily visits, sometimes with dinner. Steve would never admit it, but he liked the meetings, liked being able to let go for a little bit. Tony was very caring, and it was something Steve sort of missed - being cared for. 

Tony was over again today, and they sat on Steve’s slightly-beat up, blue couch, so close they were almost touching. Steve watched as Tony typed something onto his phone, the way the light met his face, the golden glow casted over his eyes, caught on his eyelashes, highlighting his hair. Absentmindedly, he doodled, the scratch of pencil against paper background noise. He glanced down, and to his embarrassment, realized that he was drawing the subject of his gaze.

“Steve? Do you want to get coffee with me sometime? Just, uh, hang out or something?” Tony’s voice interrupted Steve from his thoughts. Steve glanced up; Tony was looking at him, a soft smile playing over his features. He could probably see the doodle, Steve realized, and he felt his cheeks heat.  _ What was the question? _

“I- uh, sure,” Steve replied, his usual eloquence failing him. Coffee. He could do that.

\---

Panic flitted through him as he waited at the doors of the coffee shop Tony had picked. 

“Hi,” a voice startled him out of his thoughts. Tony Stark stood in front of him, smiling, eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. 

“Hi,” Steve repeated, panic not quite dissipating entirely, but enough that he could focus on the person standing in front of him. Tony, with a melodramatic flourish, pulled open the door for Steve before smirking. 

“After you,” Tony gestured, drawing a smile out of Steve. They made their way into the coffee shop, sitting down in a booth in the corner. Steve’s mind raced frantically as Tony stared at him expectantly. 

Steve’s mind seemed to blank all of a sudden, and the only thing he could think of was that Tony looked really nice in sunglasses. He wasn’t sure why they were making such a big impression on him now - he’d seen Tony in sunglasses before. So he just sat there, probably staring wide-eyed at Tony.

“I’ll, uh- I’ll order us something,” Tony said, and promptly stood up, bumping his hip on the table and cursing, before he walked towards the barista. Steve sighed and stared out the window, watching the bustle of New York. Sooner than he expected, or maybe he was just lost in thought again, Tony was back, bearing two cups of coffee. Wordlessly, he slid one over to Steve. The warmth of the coffee seeped into his hands as he slid them around the cup and brought the drink to his lips. When the liquid met his tongue, he realized that Tony had already added in the sugar and cream. 

“Tony?” he asked, getting a soft hum in acknowledgment, “I- thanks for… thanks for everything. For coming to the hospital, for checking on me, for all of this. You didn’t have to, you know.”

“Steve,” Tony sighed, “of course I did. You’re my- friend.”

“Either way, thank you,” Steve replied, casting his gaze back to Tony, who was busy staring out the window. He waited a bit, seeing if Tony would turn, and when he didn’t, returned to watching the busy street beside the store.

He heard the telltale ping of someone getting a text message, which was rather normal for a coffee shop, but then Tony swore, and Steve knew something was up. 

“Is everything okay?” His gut twisted with nervousness and worry. He swallowed another sip of coffee, not tasting the drink whatsoever. 

“Steve, uh, I’m sorry, but- shit! I have to-” there was a loud crash from outside the shop, and Steve instinctively craned his neck to see as far down the street as he could. When he turned back, Tony was following his line of sight. “I have to go,” he finished quietly. 

“Is something wrong? Did something happen? Do you need help?” the questions burst out of Steve before he could stop them. “Is someone hurt?” 

“No, uh, I just have…” Tony hesitated, “I have a SI thing.” He seemed to be directly avoiding Steve’s eyes as he spoke.

“Now? Oh god, Tony, why didn’t you tell me? I thought you were- nevermind, you can, you can go, it’s fine… I’ll uh, we’ll just call it a day, I guess.”

Tony winced slightly before answering. “I’m really sorry, Steve, I completely forgot and uh, I just, it’s urgent.”

“No, no, it’s fine, don’t apologize,” Steve wondered what was that urgent - most of the time, Tony seemed to ignore his meetings (or that was what Steve saw). But, then again, maybe Tony had become a little more invested in the company. “Just, I don’t know, call me when you’re done, I guess.”

“I promise,” Tony whispered before dashing out of the shop, leaving Steve to finish his now-slightly cold cup of coffee alone. He sipped it slowly, rolling the liquid around in his mouth before swallowing - not to savor, just to pass the time.

A flash of movement caught his eye - a red and gold flash streaked across the sky, racing towards something down the street. Iron Man. Steve had heard the stories, the rumors. Iron Man, a hired bodyguard after Tony was kidnapped. Iron Man, the man in a metal suit designed by Tony for protection. Iron Man, Tony Stark’s… lover? And Iron Man, maybe even the billionaire himself. He was no longer sure what to believe. Steve just went with the general opinion, the one about Iron Man just being a bodyguard, except with maybe a little more perks. The armor, for one, was not something you saw on a regular bodyguard assigned for someone’s protection.

There were screams outside, and a rush of fear shot through Steve. He tried to leave the coffee shop, hastily shoving the paper cup into the trash before moving towards the door. Many of the occupants were pressed against the windows, trying to see what was going on. Once he was outside, his mouth dropped in horror. Something was happening at Stark Tower. He couldn’t see what, just heard screaming and gasps.

Heart pounding, he raced down the street, trying to help people get out of the way. Someone aimed a punch at him on the way there, but he ducked under it and threw a punch of his own. 

He looked up again; Iron Man zoomed across the sky and landed on the balcony of the building before disappearing inside. Steve’s gut churned with a quiet nervousness. He hated being powerless, hated seeing danger, especially when he couldn’t do anything to help.

People around him were gathered, watching the tower with awe and horror. A group of teens even had their phones out, and Steve’s stomach curled in disgust. 

“Hey!” he called out, “put away the phones!” He didn’t stick around for long enough to see if they really had. The shrill wailing of sirens rang from down the street, and he whipped his head around, catching sight of the police. 

_ What is going on?  _

Steve thought he saw flames erupt from the top of the tower, and then the screaming confirmed it - the tower was under attack. Which begged the question: was the city next? Or was this just an attack on Tony? 

The sunlight glinted off the red and gold armor of Iron Man, and Steve watched, jaw dropped in horror, as it streaked through the air and back into the burning building. Was Tony in the tower? 

Someone knocked into him and he stumbled backwards, gaze snapping towards whoever ran into him. One look and Steve could tell that it was entirely intentional.

“Where’s Stark?” a gruff voice asked.

“What?” Steve was taken aback. 

“Saw you with him. Where’s Stark?” the person repeated, and Steve noticed that they were clenching their fist. Instead of answering, he swung and landed a solid punch, hitting their jaw. He winced from the sting of the impact, bristling from anger. 

“Where Tony is isn’t your business,” he hissed through gritted teeth before trying to get to the tower again.  _ They can’t hurt Tony. They won’t hurt Tony.  _

Just then, his phone started ringing, and with shaky hands, he unlocked it and put it to his ear. 

“Tony?” he called, hearing a loud rush of air on the other end. “Are you okay? Tony?” 

“The situation’s a bit sticky, but yeah,” Tony answered, before adding something that was lost in the wind.

“What? Where are you? Why is it so loud?” The questions tumbled out of Steve like water bursting from a broken dam. “Are you safe?”

“I said I’m at the top of Stark Tower, it’s, uh, it’s a bit windy right now, and uh, yeah. It’s someone who holds a grudge with me, I think. I’m going to have words with my past self. Mostly controlled, I think, got Iron Man here, uh, well, yeah.”

“Are you safe?” Steve repeated, noting that Tony sounded… off. “Tony, goddammit, please just tell me you’re safe.”

“Careful with your language dear,” he teased, a laugh breaking through his words, “and I’m currently fine, don’t worry. I’ll find you after this whole thing blows over.”

\---

The press was having a field day, speculating over exactly what happened, drawing up crazy conspiracies and theories that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Tony had said that it was just a calculated attack from someone he knew personally, someone who held a grudge, which explained why the attack was on his personal tower and not a Stark Industries building.

Steve had fussed over him for a bit, making sure he was okay, different questions arising in the back of his head. Why had Tony gone back to the tower? He’d probably gone back to try to make sure everything was okay, Steve reasoned. But why had he told Steve that he had a meeting? Steve knew about the dangers of being (or being with) Tony Stark. And Iron Man… something was off. He felt like he was missing something big, but it was just ever-so-slightly out of his line of sight.

“So, do you have any new projects or anything going on?” Tony inquired. Steve turned to look at him - he was curled up on Steve’s beat-up couch, picking absentmindedly at a crack in the worn leather. 

“I- no,” Steve felt odd admitting the information. “Just… the usual.” He didn’t miss the way Tony surveyed him, tilting his head and looking at Steve with the furrow between his brows that signified that he was pondering something. 

“You know,” Tony spoke slowly, as if testing how each word would sound before finishing it, “if you wanted to, you could, you could move into the tower with uh, me.”

Steve was taken aback. Was Tony offering…? Conflicting emotions raged inside him, swirling together like a hurricane. He felt a strong urge to say yes, but he also wanted to decline. He had an apartment; he was doing just dandy. And it didn’t feel right to just intrude upon Tony like that. But moving in just to hang out with Tony sounded rather appealing to Steve. They’d see each other. It would be nice. He’d be close to Tony. Being close to Tony sounded awfully nice at the moment. 

“You don’t have to decide now,” Tony seemed to sense Steve’s confusion. “Just throwing the offer out there.”

“Tony, I… I don’t know,” Steve said finally. “I- it just… it’s not intrusive to you is it? And my pockets aren’t exactly filled to the brim.”

“Steve, I’m letting you move in,” Tony rolled his eyes, but Steve spotted a small half-smile forming, “you don’t have to pay rent. And you won’t ever be intrusive. It’s just… I don’t know. I mean, you know me, I give the people I care about things, and, well…”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll think about it,” Steve ignored the fluttering feeling in his stomach and stared down at his hands, which were folded across his lap. 

\---

_ Why? Why is he so… kind?  _

Steve sighed and gently set the paintbrush he was using down into the water cup, a murky brown from all the different colors, shaking his thoughts away from Tony again and refocusing on the painting. He just couldn’t capture the way the sunlight glinted off the red and gold of the Iron Man armor. 

He would be lying if he said that he hadn’t wanted to draw Iron Man. It was just that he never really saw the armor much, except for on the news, when there was usually some sort of wreckage burning in the background or something. There was that one time it was Tony’s ruined Malibu mansion, shattered glass and even rumors about a second set of armor, this one silver. 

The brief moments when he’d seen the suit first streak past the coffee shop and then up on the top of the tower had been ingrained into his mind, the image seared into his brain. He’d searched up pictures of the armor, trying to capture the moment, but apparently Iron Man was more obscure than he thought.

For some reason, Steve couldn’t really picture someone behind the mask most of the time. He never really saw Iron Man enough, to be fair, but something about the demeanor seemed so foreign yet familiar at the same time.

He picked up the paintbrush again, bringing it closer to the canvas. The tip just barely pressed against it when the doorbell rang, startling Steve. His arm jerked slightly, sending a streak of gold onto the painting. He swore and surveyed the half-finished painting, annoyance curling through him until he noticed that somehow, miraculously, it wasn’t that bad - the erratic streak looked like flames bursting from the boots of the Iron Man armor. If he just added some shading and highlights… 

He snapped up, remembering that his doorbell had just rang and dashed over, opening the door. On the other side stood Tony, an odd expression on his face. Steve noticed the unkempt hair, the dark bags under his eyes, and even the lack of his usual fidgeting.

“Am I interrupting?” Tony asked, and Steve realized that he was probably covered in paint. 

“No,” he replied, even though Tony technically was interrupting, “come in.” He turned to tidy up his makeshift studio, but the lack of footfalls behind him made him whirl back around. Tony paused in surprise, and they were suddenly really close. “Uh, sorry, I-” he trailed off as Tony reached up ever-so-slowly and wiped something off his cheek, the pad of his thumb slightly rough against Steve’s cheek, sending warmth up Steve’s stomach.  _ Stop that, _ he chided himself, but he couldn’t help stare at Tony, his slightly messy hair that curled around his ears, the golden light in his eyes, falling across his lashes. 

“You have, uh, paint on your face,” Tony pointed out, startling Steve out of whatever he was doing, glancing down at the paint now on his thumb. “So I am interrupting?” He shot a half-smile at Steve before asking, “can I… see? Not if you feel uncomfortable of course, but uh, I’m curious? If you don’t want me to see it that’s fine I just… yeah. Curious.”

Steve found himself smiling at Tony’s ramble. “You can see it if you want. It’s not that good, I just… the images filled my head and I had to get them out.” He led Tony to the painting, noting all the little errors he’d have to fix if he did try to go somewhere with this. 

The silence stretched on and Steve wondered if something was wrong. He snuck a glance at Tony - the brunette was taking the painting in. His mouth was parted slightly, and Steve hoped it was awe he saw. 

“Wow, Steve,” Tony’s voice carried so much fondness and reverence, “I- this is amazing. I kinda want it.” He snorted derisively before adding, “Tony Stark, the man who wants everything.”

“I… I think I wanna keep this one,” Steve knew that Tony really was genuine about wanting it - it wouldn’t be something that he’d place randomly in the kitchen, but there was something about it that made him not want to let go of it just yet. “For now,” he added, seeing the look on Tony’s face change.

“Oh, no, I understand, it’s fine,” Tony added hastily. “It’s just gorgeous. The way you paint m- Iron Man…”

“Thank you,” Steve said quietly, secretly glad that Tony liked the painting. Aside from occasional commissions, he didn’t really get much support.

“Have you thought about… about what I said?” Tony asked after a silence. “Not to be pushy or anything. I just wanna know, I guess.”

Had Steve thought about the offer? Only all day, every day. He’d mulled over the possible motives Tony could’ve had for having him move in, each which seemed less malicious than the last, not that any were malicious. Steve supposed that Tony just wanted to help him and probably check on him after the crash. 

“Yes,” he stated, even though he hadn’t convinced himself entirely that he was going to do it.

Tony blinked then said, “Yes.” It wasn't a question, just a firm statement.  _ Yes. _ The word seemed to carry promise and hope.

“Yes.” Steve repeated, watching the smile bloom on Tony’s face, the small quirk upwards before he was grinning, and then they were both smiling and laughing, the sounds of joy filling the room.

\---

Though Steve had been in the tower before,  _ this _ was not what he was expecting. Tony had practically set up an art studio for him - an expensive one, from the looks of it. Steve’s jaw dropped when he walked into the room. The room was warm and vibrant, one side of it all windows, the sunlight streaming through. Various art supplies lay in the room, some neatly organized, others in piles. 

“Tony,” Steve began, trying to sound less awed and more disproving. “You shouldn’t have. I mean, I have a set of acrylics I use a lot already, and sketchbooks. You don’t have to use all this money on me.”

“Steve?” he could practically hear the raised eyebrow he was sure Tony was giving him.

“Mm?” Steve replied, half-listening, the other half trying to take in as much as he could.

“Did I mention I spend money on the people I care about?” 

“Yeah,” Steve made his way over to a corner of the room, where he saw something that looked vaguely familiar.

“Where are you- oh-” The rest of what Tony had said seemed to have faded into the background. He had unearthed a small collection of sketches he had done for Tony when they were still dating. Carefully, he pushed open the cover, a portrait of Tony done in pencil greeting him. He flipped through the rest of the sketches - there weren’t that many, but he could sense the emotion behind each line. 

He was about to put it back when he noticed the corner of something peeking from between the pages. With trembling fingers, he pulled it out. 

It was a sketch of him and Tony, carefree and in love, the affection obvious from the way they seemed to be looking at each other. Memories flooded through him. He closed his eyes, recalling the moment when he did the sketch. They had been at a coffee shop and Steve had been sketching while Tony talked about the city and evading the press.

He remembered stealing glances at Tony, making sure that each detail was as accurate as he could possibly get it, noting the way the edges of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he fidgeted slightly with his hands when he was nervous, the way his lashes framed his eyes with the light filtering through them. The things that all seemed easy to notice now that he knew to look. 

He ran his finger over Tony’s jawline, watching the graphite smudge slightly under his finger. Tony had kept the drawing this entire time. But… why? Maybe it was just sentiment. Or he forgot about it. It wasn’t a big deal.

“Thank you,” Steve whispered, “for everything.”

\---

Iron Man made news once or twice. Steve tried hard to get the red and gold armor out of his head, but more often than not, he ended up painting or sketching or even using digital software to etch it out. He wondered if that was why Tony seemed uneasy around him, but Steve thought that Iron Man was a hero. Plus, the armor was a beauty. Even Tony agreed with that.

Tony and him had settled into a routine. Tony would be away most of the day at SI, and Steve’s life largely remained the same, except he was living with Tony Stark. At least the reporters didn’t follow him outside, which was surprising, considering they seemed intent on destroying everybody Tony was close to. 

They’d also established “movie nights,” during which they’d discuss anything and everything and maybe watch a movie. Tony often picked movies he liked, which Steve was grateful for, because he lacked knowledge of the 21st century, at least film-wise. 

Tonight, Steve was curled into his side of the couch, which was softer and a little less cracked compared to Steve’s, drawing tablet across his lap, half-finished sketch projected on the glowing screen. It was a mess of colors and lines, and maybe something that vaguely resembled a figure.

Tony was at the opposite end of the couch (though there really was not that much space between them). The flicker of the screen reflected off his face and Steve itched to draw that - Tony, lost in a movie, staring intently at the screen, his face illuminated by the shifting light. He still had the Iron Man painting he’d done, the first one. It was up in his room, angled so that you really had to go into the room to see it. 

Maybe it was from observing Tony quietly as he drew, but when he paused for a moment, surveying the drawing, he realized it was… Tony. Not obviously - the trademark goatee was missing - but the things that made Tony Tony were there, highlighted in vivid streaks of color.

At some point he must’ve dozed off because suddenly he was snapping awake to another nightmare. He’d had them for a while now - Steve hated heights. He hated airplanes, had hated them for a while, and he couldn’t help but think about what it would be like to tumble through the sky until you- He tried to clear his thoughts. He wasn’t going to go back down this nightmarish thought spiral.

The first thing he noticed was that Tony’s head was on his shoulder, and he didn’t know how to feel about it. He shifted slightly, trying to not wake Tony up, but he snapped awake anyway, focusing on Steve.

“Are you okay?” he immediately asked, “god what time is it?”

“I- yeah, I’m good,” Steve lied, “and I don’t know what time it is.”

“JA-” Tony paused mid-word and instead of finishing, he slid his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. “It’s around three in the morning, for your information.” He glanced up, staring at Steve for what felt like ages before he spoke again. “Are you okay?” he asked again.

“I’m-” Steve sighed and buried his face in his hands before meeting Tony’s gaze again. 

“Not okay,” Tony suggested, scooching closer to Steve, making a motion as if to hug Steve before dropping his arm suddenly. “It’s okay to be not okay, you know. Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“Nightmare. It’s fine.” Steve knew he just had to grit his teeth and get through it - everyone had them at one point or another. He just had to deal with it.

“It’s not fine if you’re suffering. God, I don't know how to talk about this, uh, just… if you need someone to talk to, I’m here,” Tony rambled, “I have… my own demons. Sometimes you just gotta let it out.”

“I… I don’t know… I just hate heights,” Steve began, frustration creeping into his voice, “I guess it’s a phobia, but… apparently that’s how one of my friends died. Army. And I hate the idea of being up so high and then just… tumbling down. It-” he broke off, “I hate it,” he added, knowing how pathetic he probably sounded.

“It’s okay,” Tony said softly. At some point, he had started tracing circles and patterns onto the back of Steve’s hand, and it was oddly soothing. “I-” he snorted, “Like I said, I’m not the right person to talk about this to, but, uh, maybe we could find something that allowed you to associate heights with being not a bad thing? It’s just a phobia, Steve, everyone has them, it’s nothing to beat yourself up over. You don’t have to be angry that you’re not perfect.”

“Nothing to beat yourself over,” Steve echoed softly, mulling over the statement. “But it feels… silly almost. Like I don’t like looking out the windows sometimes because it can be sickening. A friend of mine took me to one of those glass floor towers, and I- it shouldn’t be this scary, I guess. I shouldn’t be so bothered. And if I’m bothered, I shouldn’t show it? I guess…” 

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard,” Tony sighed, “and I’ve heard some pretty ridiculous things. If you’re afraid of something, you’re afraid of it… Oh god, is living here causing problems? Uh. Oh god. Um, if you wanna get over it, I think… slow exposure? Like, slow, controlled exposure? I’m not a therapist, but I think that might help. Again, associate it with things that aren’t inherently bad.”

“Hmmm,” he considered the prospect. “I probably have a serious phobia of some sort. I just- I can’t- it’s hard-” he took a breath, “it’s hard to not…” Steve waved his hand through the air, trying to convey what words could not, “to not be afraid when I’m up high. I guess it’s because I might associate being in high places with danger and falling… Here is fine, I guess, if I don’t actively think about how far away from the ground we are? ”

“Fear of falling, maybe?” Tony mused, a thoughtful tone to his voice. 

“No,” Steve countered, “it’s more just… maybe both… I hate being in high places and I hate falling… Tony, I don’t know,” he murmured quietly, feeling the words tumble out of his mouth, rolling off of his lips into the room.

“It’s okay,” Tony repeated, and this time, he slid his arms around Steve and pulled him in, patting his back reassuringly. He did not let go, merely kept an arm wrapped around Steve. The warmth was comforting. “It’s okay.”

Steve glanced at Tony, who stared back at him. He was suddenly uncomfortable, not in a bad way, but in a way that made a swirl of butterflies spiral upwards into your stomach. Part of him told himself to break the stare, but he felt captured in Tony’s gaze. He felt his lips part, as if to say something, but he couldn’t move them to form words. Tony’s eyes flicked downward, and he leaned in just the slightest before pulling away like he had been jerked back. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Steve turned away, thoughts racing frantically as his brain tried to wrap around what happened. Had Tony tried to kiss him? But they were just friends, right? But kissing Tony… Steve wasn’t aware of how much he wanted to until now. Had he ever really gotten over their “breakup”? Or was he falling in headfirst again?

“Are you okay?” Tony sounded so genuine and kind, despite whatever had happened before. Steve nodded mutely, swallowing hard and shaking the thoughts out of his head. Steve felt Tony rest his head on his shoulder, and hesitantly, he gently lay his head on top, Tony’s soft hair pressed against his cheek. A silence filled the room, stretching on for a bit, the only sounds the breathing of the two - quiet and peaceful in the night. 

\---

When he woke again, a rush of panic filled Steve. He’d fallen asleep. A soft snore alerted him to the fact that Tony was still sleeping, and his heart calmed down slightly, until he realized what position he was in. Sometime, during the night, they’d ended up lying together on the couch. He had both arms wrapped tightly around Tony, clutching him like a lifeline, and Tony was curled into him. 

He wasn’t sure what to think of it. Had it been comforting? Yes. Absolutely. But Tony was just a friend, right? They were just friends, would always be, and friends helped each other.

He banished the thought from his mind, slipping away as silently as he could, a little reluctant to move away from Tony. This time, there was no response. The foggy sense of sleep hung over him, and instinct and memory led him to the coffee maker in the kitchen. 

Every inch of this tower held memories for Steve, and it felt like he was drowning in them, being back. Reading or drawing while Tony tinkered in the workshop, brief flurries of conversation when they felt like talking. Breakfast together, stealing slow kisses from the other. In the gym, “sparring” with Tony as an excuse to get closer to him, despite neither of them being top-notch fighters. (Steve still thought he could pack a mean punch.)

He sipped his coffee, staring out the window distractedly. He’d go outside after this. Clear his mind. And then he’d go back and try to remember exactly what he had said to Tony last night when he was sleep-deprived and… scared.

The morning air was relatively crisp and cool against his face, and he closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths. When he opened his eyes again, there was someone standing in front of him. It took a split second for him to register that it was the man who had accosted him the other day, but in that split second, a punch had been thrown at him, and Steve stumbled backward from the impact. The punch had caught him in the cheek, and it stung, but Steve was on his toes now. The man swung again, but Steve caught his outstretched arm and ducked under it, wrapping his own arm around the man’s neck in the process. The man thrashed against him, somehow managing to throw Steve off of him, and he whirled around, slamming another punch into Steve. Gritting his teeth, Steve swung back, hitting him once or twice, and eventually, he bowled the other man over into the ground, standing over him in what he hoped was a menacing position.

“What do you want?” he hissed through clenched teeth. There was no answer, and Steve bristled with anger. There was the sound of someone behind him; Steve whirled around, and Iron Man stood there, repulsor trained not on Steve, but on the person on the ground.

“Don't touch him,” Iron Man hissed, voice filled with barely contained rage, faceplate trained directly on the assailant. Steve could almost imagine the furious expression hidden by the mask.

“Ah, Iron Man,” the man on the floor’s voice was filled with absolute hatred, and maybe even a little glee, “so good of you to show up. Or should I say, Tony Stark.”

“Shut up,” Steve snapped, before he processed what the man just said. Could it be… A kick at his leg brought him back to the situation, and he thought he saw Iron Man clench one of his fists.

“What do you want?” Iron Man’s metallic voice was filled with loathing. “And why does it concern Steve?”

“What I want,” the man smiled, eyes never losing their malice, “is to see you  _ ruined _ . The legendary Iron Man, ruined by the face behind the mask. The great Tony Stark ruined by secrets. And a third thing. You, Mr. Rogers, ruined by the man you thought you loved.”

“J, alert law enforcement,” Steve thought he heard Iron Man say, but there was no one else in the area. “Steve-”

He flipped up the face mask and then Steve was staring right into Tony’s eyes.

A whirlwind of emotions rushed into Steve. Disbelief. Anger. Betrayal. Awe. “What do you want?” he opted to say. “Were you ever going to tell me?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” Steve repeated blankly, anger rising up in him. “Why didn’t you tell me? I-” He didn’t know why he was so hurt by this. Maybe because he thought he trusted Tony, when the biggest secret still lay in between them. Maybe because they’d said previously - no secrets, nothing that would tear them apart if the public found out, and Steve had opened his heart out to a man that lived a dual-life. 

Steve could hear the piercing wail of sirens in the background, and distantly, numbly, he watched as Tony said something to the cops and the attacker was transferred into their custody. The red and gold armor shimmered in the light, and what once Steve would have longed to touch now hurt. 

“I’ve got nothing against Iron Man,” Steve said bitterly, “but… Tony… I thought we’d agreed to trust each other, at the very least, even at the very beginning. Now it seems that I’ve been incorrect about that too.”

“Steve,” Tony began, but he hesitated and instead, closed the faceplate. “Mr. Rogers. I’d like to escort you back into the tower safely.” His voice carried no emotion, and it almost sounded like it was something he’d recited over and over again.

“Iron Man,” Steve acknowledged coldly, trying to conceal the raging mess of emotions he was feeling. He followed Tony into the tower, trailing behind him numbly as they traversed into the elevator, shooting upwards, trying to ignore the sense of fear he got whenever he thought about how tall the tower was. The ride was silent and tense, and time seemed to stretch on and on. He never once glanced over at Tony, kept his eyes trained on the small screen that signaled which floor they were on, watching the numbers change.

Tony led him to his room, silently, almost a little too quiet. Just before he turned to leave, he opened his mouth to speak. Steve let his eyes fall to Tony’s lips, the lips he had wanted to kiss, the lips part of a face he had admired for so long, the lips that had uttered lies to him, unable to look at Tony in the eye. “I’m- I- I love you, Steve. Fuck, it’s out now, well, you know. I love you. I have and always will. Gosh- I just… I’m sorry. For breaking your trust. I-” He whispered the words, almost as if he didn’t want Steve to hear.

Steve pushed the door closed, locking the door and hearing the lock click with a quiet horror and satisfaction.

He didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. 

The anger and hurt bubbled up in him, and he leaned against the door before burying his face in his hands and crying.

It was everything he could’ve wanted but in the worst possible way.

\---

Steve sighed and scribbled out another sketch that he had started. His mind refused to relax, to just let him lose himself in artwork. What had once been a great escapist hobby was now another reminder of everything.

The windows were shut, despite the bright sunlight and great view - heights only reminded Steve of the conversation with Tony, and the morning after. Speaking of the morning after, the Iron Man painting lay deep in one of the empty drawers in the room, probably meant for art supplies, but Steve had shoved it in there unceremoniously, closing the drawer and not looking again. The temptation was always there, but he couldn’t. He had shoved every thought of Tony out of his brain, doing his best to ignore the chasm between them and the words Tony had said right before Steve had shoved the door in his face.

Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair tiredly, trying to channel whatever artist he had left inside of him before he placed the pencil to the paper and began to draw again, trying to allow the pencil to guide him through whatever he was going to draw. He managed a couple of minutes before his concentration broke completely. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it carelessly across the room.

He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly. He needed to leave the tower - the memories were too much, and he was suffocating in them, he couldn’t breathe through the thick hold they had on him. 

As silently as he could, he slid open the door slowly, as he did whenever he left the room, peeking down the hallway to see if anyone else was there. It was empty. He walked towards the elevator, when the sight of Tony stopped him in his tracks.

His heart leaped despite his brain telling him not to trust the man standing in front of him. Tony looked equally as surprised as Steve, eyes wide open, mouth parted slightly. Steve resisted the urge to look down. He wasn’t sure what he should do, but before he could make up his mind, Tony answered for him by turning and practically running away from him. Steve felt a pang of regret that he had caused Tony to feel that way, but he also felt a satisfaction that he was alone again. 

Steve punched the buttons in the elevator, distractedly staring at the patterns on the tiled floor as he tried to decipher his emotions. He told himself repeatedly that Tony had broken his trust and that he was still festering over it, but he couldn’t deny the thrill of seeing him. He blinked a couple times, adjusting to the bright sunlight, and strolled down the street, the sounds of New York City filling the atmosphere. He lost himself in the crowd of people as he headed to the coffee shop that he went to pretty often. 

It was only after he entered when he realized that he’d gone to another memory-filled site. Tony and him, multiple times, sitting together, sipping their coffees in relative peace and quiet (or as much peace and quiet you could get at a fairly busy coffee shop). If he closed his eyes, Tony could be standing next to him. 

Someone behind him cleared their throat and Steve shuffled forward awkwardly, slipping into the line for orders. He ignored the cashier’s casual flirting, partially distracted by his own thoughts. He sighed as he waited for his coffee and flicked open the messages app on his phone for the first time in days, finally giving in to the onslaught of messages someone had sent him. He wasn’t surprised to find alerts from Tony, and he clicked the message platform open. He scrolled through variations of “sorry” and “please talk to me” before some more angry responses, and then stopped when he saw the photos.

The first photo was an angled shot of the Iron Man helmet being tinkered with. Part of Tony’s hand had been caught in the frame. The second one was of one of Tony’s robots. Steve had met them all that one day in the lab, and judging from the fire extinguisher, he guessed that Tony had sent him a picture of DUM-E. (Steve couldn’t remember all the bots. They’d never been in the workshop much when they were dating, but he had a vivid memory of DUM-E and the fire extinguisher…)

He frowned in confusion. What was this supposed to mean? The sound of his name being called prompted him to tuck his phone back into his pocket. He curled his fingers around the coffee greedily, muttering a quick thanks before dumping some sugar and cream into the cup, mixing the blend and sipping despite the heat. The coffee was a distraction, and Steve gladly allowed himself to be distracted for a moment before reopening his phone, carefully angled away from any prying eyes. He studied the photos, seeing if there was anything he was missing, but there didn’t seem to be anything. Maybe Tony was just documenting his day. 

He sat in the coffee shop for a while, trying to take his mind off of things, but it didn’t really work, so he finished the coffee and threw it out before wandering out the store and down the street. Stark Tower loomed above him, and Steve’s stomach churned with a quiet nervousness as he thought about just how tall the building might be. Funny how he lived in New York, where you ate, breathed, and lived skyscrapers, but he was afraid of heights. Maybe Tony was right about the exposure…

He should probably head back to the tower. Steve felt more wary after the attack, well, multiple attacks, that had happened because of him. Even with the attacker in custody, he didn’t know how things would turn out. 

\---

Once he was back in his room, the door shut tightly, his eyes fell on the crumpled sketch. Sighing, he picked it back up and smoothed out the creases as best he could, examining it. It was undoubtedly Iron Man, just a bare sketchy outline, the faceplate up, but underneath, was nothing. Steve couldn’t bring himself to draw Tony’s face. Funny, he thought, how his mind had once conjured the image of Tony in the suit, hell, even fantasized about Tony in the suit sweeping him off of his feet and- He’d thought it was fitting, hadn’t he? He slid the sketch back onto the table before glancing at the blinds, which were drawn shut across the window. 

His gut churned with interest and nervousness. He hated looking out windows whenever he was high up in the sky; it made him feel like the floor would give out and then he would fall. It would be fun to try to paint New York City… Silently cursing himself, Steve opened the blinds, taking in the sight of the city spread out around him, the forest of buildings clumped around him.

He kept his eyes glued straight ahead, not wanting to look down and see the sheer height of the building he was in. The sky was a clear blue, and Steve was already debating on which colors to use. He turned around and thought for a moment, noticing the unfinished sketch yet again. He should finish it, he thought. Eventually, he gave into the temptation, picking up his pencil, adding a face behind the mask, slowly etching Tony’s likeness onto the paper. Somehow, his pencil and memory almost seemed to lead him as he drew. 

The sound of his phone buzzing and vibrating against his leg startled Steve, and he fumbled it trying to take it out. He checked the notifications - Tony had sent him something just now. He unlocked his phone, viewing the message Tony had sent. 

It was another snapshot, but this time it was of one of Steve’s sketches. It was the same sketch that he himself had picked up and examined, losing himself in the memories behind the drawing, the one he had drawn what felt like forever ago, the one of him and Tony caught in the hold of love. Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it. Part of him desperately wanted to be like that again - happy and in love with Tony.

Another message popped up, reading, “I’m sorry.” Steve wasn’t sure what to say, opening the keyboard to type something, but never forming any words. Instead, he just snapped a quick picture of the Iron Man sketch, and before he could hesitate, he hit “send.” Tony didn’t reply at first, and Steve wondered if he saw the message when his phone started ringing, the caller ID displaying Tony’s name. 

“Hello?” he wondered if something had gone wrong. “Are you… okay?” 

“Steve,” Tony began, “I… I’m really sorry. I… we agreed to trust each other, and I broke that trust. Oh god, I’m not normally the type to beg for forgiveness, but you’re my friend and… I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Steve said quietly in response, “I know.” He took a breath, pondering his next words. “I guess… I already forgave you, at least a little bit. I think… I think I can understand why you did it, even though I might not like it. Tony, we dated and you never told me…”

“Yeah, uh,” Tony snorted, “I’m really sorry about the deception. God, I miss you… I don’t know, it feels different without you.”

“Does it now?” Steve raised an eyebrow despite knowing that Tony wouldn’t be able to see it.

“Steve, you wound me,” Tony sighed dramatically, “you’re doing the eyebrow of disappointment, aren’t you?”

“I do not have an eyebrow of disappointment,” Steve retorted, “and besides, you’re the one who brought it up. It is different without you. But I also don’t have to worry about not having coffee because  _ someone _ drank it all.”

“You’re secretly a little shit, aren’t you? Besides, we still live in the same tower. Just because you’re not making me sleep and wake up at a normal time doesn’t mean I don’t drink all the coffee.” He paused for a moment, and Steve realized he was yawning. “Damn, I miss you.”

Steve hummed in agreement, tucking his phone under his ear as he walked to the door. He was in better spirits now, and he couldn’t hide the shit-eating grin that was probably plastered on his face. 

“Oh, by the way,” Steve added, “when was the last time you slept?”

“Why do I feel like I should be asking you that question?” Tony deflected. “I don’t know… J what time is it?”

“J?” Steve asked, startled. “Please tell me there’s another person I haven’t heard about.”

“Oh no, just an AI. JARVIS. I guess I didn’t want to tell you about him because Iron Man also uses the same technology…” Tony trailed off, perhaps waiting for Steve’s response.

“AI… that’s really impressive,” Steve’s mind churned with ideas. “So what does JARVIS do?” 

“Pretty much anything and everything,” Tony said, and was it Steve’s imagination, or did he hear Tony’s voice? (Not through the phone, of course, but it sounded like it was coming from outside. Just then, there was a knock on the door. Steve pulled it open, and there was Tony, smiling crookedly, holding his phone to his ear.

“Hello,” Steve greeted.

“Hello yourself,” Tony’s smile disappeared, “I’m really sorry, again. I don’t know if you’ve heard it too many times, but I think I should say it.”

Steve responded by pulling Tony into a hug. “It’s okay,” he whispered. And it was. He felt like it was, at least. It still stung that Tony hadn’t trusted him, but now he hopefully did, and that was all Steve could really ask for, wasn’t it? “And sorry for running away on you.”

“You didn’t run away from me, Rogers,” Tony rolled his eyes. “Still. I’m sorry. You know I have trust issues sometimes, but you help with that? Sorta? I can trust you. I will trust you, or at least try.”

Steve made to pull away, but Tony kept his arm around him and sat down, tugging Steve with him. Steve rested his head on Tony’s shoulder, wincing as he felt the tears trail down his face. He closed his eyes and breathed in, trying to will them away, and then he felt the soft pad of Tony’s thumb brushing across his cheek.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Tony sounded on the verge of tears as well, and Steve tightened his arms around Tony, muffling a sob in his shoulder. He felt Tony’s hand thread through his hair and Tony held him tight. 

Steve looked up, catching the sight of tear tracks on Tony’s face and before he could hesitate, wiped them off, returning the gesture. He ignored the urge to kiss him on the cheek. Now wasn’t the time. And who knew if Tony had changed his mind.

“God, I missed you,” Tony whispered through a choked laugh. “On a random note, with your fear of heights, I’m not sure this is entirely a good idea, but what if I flew with you on the Iron Man suit? I won’t drop you, I promise. Maybe it’s unfair, but I’m asking you to trust me?”

Steve blinked at the sudden change of topic, all thoughts of kissing Tony driven from his mind. “I… I don’t know… it sounds both interesting and scary at the same time, but I don’t know if the interest outweighs the fear. It sounds nice, but I can’t guarantee that I won’t scream or panic.”

“Then scream and panic. I’ll help you.” Tony’s eyes were practically begging Steve to say yes, and he wondered if it was a way of reconciliation. “Trust.”

“Alright… when?”

\---

Steve was starting to have some regrets. The thought of hovering over the city, hundreds, if not a thousand, of feet above the air with nothing supporting him but Tony made his stomach turn. The golden lights of the city glowed as Tony led him onto the balcony, and Steve kept his focus on the man beside him, not the distance from the ground beneath. He watched with a quiet awe as the red and gold armor began to assemble itself around Tony, the quiet clicks and whirs of the machinery. It was just as breathtaking up close as it was from a distance. He stared at Tony for a moment, in admiration, really (Tony was quite handsome), but glanced away when he saw Tony turning back to him.

“Ready?” Tony asked, flipping his faceplate up and turning to Steve, throwing him a small smile. 

“I think,” Steve replied, watching as Tony moved closer to him, faceplate coming down to mask his face, wrapping his arms around Steve, and Steve snaked his own arms around Tony, clutching him tightly. A rush of terror shot through him and he felt a little ridiculous, but he buried his face in the metal shoulder. Almost instantly, Tony’s hand came up and cradled his head, and Steve wasn’t sure what to feel about that.

Before he could do anything else, they were flying through the air, the wind whipping at Steve. He snuck a look, and his stomach dropped at the sheer height, his arms tightening instinctively around Tony as they zoomed above the city. 

_ Trust. _

Shakily, Steve lifted his head from where it was nestled and glanced around. The night sky was peaceful, a thin coat of hazy clouds allowing the light of a couple of stars to bleed through. He looked down, trying not to think about falling. The city spread out beneath him was utterly beautiful, and also, a little bit terrifying. 

_ What if I fall? _

“I’ll catch you,” Tony whispered, and Steve wasn’t sure if he’d spoken aloud, or Tony had been thinking the same thing, but he shot his best attempt at a smile. Vaguely, he was aware that he was probably grasping the metal so hard it was bending, but he couldn’t bring himself to loosen his fingers.

“Are you okay?” Tony asked, flipping his faceplate up, concern flooding his voice, “we can always go back down if you want.” Steve looked at him for a moment, processing his question, pondering his next move, when he seemed to realize how close they were. Their noses were practically touching, and from the hitch on Tony’s breath, he noticed too. Steve swallowed, feeling his lips part slightly, and watching as Tony’s gaze fell downwards.

They were so close, Steve could feel the warm breath of Tony hitting him, and something electric seemed to pass between them. Tony’s tongue darted out nervously to wet his lips, and Steve’s mind was emptied but for one thought:  _ I want to kiss him.  _ It just seemed fitting, and, really, he would be fooling himself if he pretended he hadn’t wanted to for a while. So he leaned forward, pressing his lips against Tony’s, and they were kissing. His mind blanked, but he held on to Tony desperately, probably bending the armor. When they broke away, Tony’s eyes were shining. 

“Did I mention I love you?” Tony asked, laughing softly, tightening his arm around Steve’s waist, “because I’m pretty sure I did.” 

And, yes, Steve remembered now, the sadness caught in those words, spoken to him right before he’d shut the door tightly. He let the memories fall out of whatever hidden part of his mind he’d shut them in, letting the longing engulf him.

“I know,” Steve murmured softly, “I love you too. God, I love you so much. And I thought I made it obvious. Do you-”

He was cut off as Tony slammed their lips together, the metal fingers of the armor cool against Steve’s cheek as they kissed once again. He parted his lips as Tony’s tongue traced the seam of his lips playfully, and he reveled in the sensation of being kissed so thoroughly. 

“Still scared?” Tony teased, but Steve could also hear the genuine worry in his voice. Steve realized right then that he was safe here, safe with Tony. Maybe he was still scared, but Tony would help him. “‘Cause I’m kinda ready to touch down,” Tony added. 

“Okay,” Steve rested his head on Tony’s shoulder, closing his eyes, joy flooding through him. Maybe he was giddy with love and excitement after months of barely repressed longing, the glances and want. 

“Okay,” Tony repeated, smiling even wider than he already was before flipping his faceplate down again and flying them back down to Earth, landing back on the balcony. Steve watched in fascination as the machinery came up to remove the armor. 

“I have something for you, on a side note,” Steve blurted impulsively, but now had never seemed like a better time. 

“What? Why?” The look of genuine confusion on Tony’s face made Steve giggle, and then Tony started laughing too, and then they were both laughing so hard they were gasping for breath. 

“I just- thought you- thought you might like it,” Steve said in between gasps, feeling Tony pull him closer and gladly moving along. He slid his own arm around Tony, and it was almost like they never left. 

“Hmm,” Tony murmured, “then, by all means, lead the way.” They walked back into the tower, and Steve led the way to his room, even though Tony probably knew the way by heart. He pushed open the door, flicked on the lights, and pulled open the drawer, slipping the painting into Tony’s hands carefully. 

Tony seemed to register what the painting was and when he did, he turned to look at Steve, eyes shining with an emotion Steve couldn’t quite place. 

“Steve,” he began, “I… thank you.”

And then his hands were cupped around Steve’s cheeks and he was pulling Steve in and drinking him in a slow, sweet kiss, the one that sent curls of heat up your stomach.

“I love you,” he whispered again, wrapping an arm around Steve, gazing out the window. Steve followed his line of sight, staring out the window, remembering the trip through the sky earlier, the way that they had flown at dizzying heights, and Tony hadn’t dropped him. Right here, right now, he was safe in Tony’s arms. If he fell, Tony would catch him.

“I love you too,” Steve whispered back.

  
  



End file.
